


Blue Monday

by venagrey



Series: Synesthesia [2]
Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: Anxiety, Canon Compliant, F/M, First Time, Haruka's Hometown Date, Hidden Relationship, Old Fic, One-Shot, Prequel, extremely soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:02:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26026153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venagrey/pseuds/venagrey
Summary: Nothing changes in a moment. It’s all a chain reaction, a leading-up-to of what seems inevitable, but isn’t. STARISH is back for the last show of their first tour, and the earth moves. Or, Tokiya is in over his head.Synesthesia-verse, but works as a canon standalone. Prequel to ch. 7.
Relationships: Ichinose Tokiya/Nanami Haruka
Series: Synesthesia [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1829167
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	Blue Monday

**Author's Note:**

> GOOD MORNING! I'm doing something a little differently this time. Like Synesthesia, I wrote this story back in 2017. It's complete. Unlike last time, though, I've decided to post this _as_ I post Synesthesia because it's a direct prequel to ch. 7. Obviously, you don't have to read this yet. But I thought it might be fun to introduce mid-stride, both because of the nature of the end of ch. 6 and because this story illuminates some themes at the end of Synesthesia that I'm really fond of.
> 
> Stylistically, I went through a phase a few years ago where I was doing a lot of impressionism. That style seemed to fit Tokiya, so this is kind of a callback to those roots. This takes place about four years earlier, shortly after the end of S4 in the anime. It’s freakishly long. But it’s complete. It's also pretty much entirely unrevised. I beta my own stories, so any errors are my own.
> 
> I hope you enjoy. Please let me know what you think! I live for feedback, especially comments.

× × × × ×

(thirty-eight days before)

× × × × ×

There was a couch in the common area backstage, a little island in the middle of people running back and forth, most of them muttering into earpieces or carrying pieces of heavy equipment. Otoya was looking around at them, the hand that was perpetually in his hair making it so that when he plopped down next to Tokiya on the couch, he was taking up twice as much space as he needed to.

“One more,” his roommate sighed at the ceiling. “Who would have thought being on tour would be so _exhausting_?”

“I could have told you that.”

He felt rather than saw Otoya look his way, his eyes remaining closed, his attention trained on a point between hands clasped in front of him, resting on his knees. It was a technique he’d used as long as he’d been a performer, clearing his mind of whatever distractions were between him and the person he needed to become when they went out onstage. He waited for a reply, but none came, though he didn’t feel Otoya get up from the couch, either. He heard his roommate breathe loudly.

_“Haruka!”_

Cecil’s voice split the air. He heard something heavy thudding on the ground, soft swears from somewhere behind him as one of the stagehands dropped an amp he was carrying. The sounds of footsteps quickly followed. Tokiya’s eyes flew open. 

The others were running past. He and Otoya looked at each other for a moment before Otoya levered over the back of the couch, joining the ring of them that were gathering around their composer. 

_“I’ve missed you all so much!”_

He couldn’t even see her, the others were blocking her—he glimpsed a flash of her hair when Cecil picked her up in a giant hug, swinging her around. 

Everyone was talking over each other, blurring into the noise of the room. She was answering Syo when he joined them, walking to Haruka’s other side.

“—I couldn’t miss it! The last show of your first tour…I’m so proud of everyone.”

“If you’re watching, this will be the best one yet!”

He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she turned, then, directing that full, unadulterated smile of hers at him. He felt something hot shoot _straight_ through him. His heart rate spiked. 

Then Otoya was speaking again, and she turned back around.

“I’m getting so pumped up! I want to go out on stage right now!”

Masato was looking at him. Out of everyone, Masato had always understood him the best. There was something in his expression, like he knew exactly what he was feeling, maybe even shared it. He saw her look up. There was a flare of hope. But she was looking over their heads, at the stagehand he now saw waving at them frantically, speaking rapidly into a headpiece.

“You’re getting your wish, Ittoki-kun!”

A few of them turned—there was a scuttle, a few of them jetting off toward the stage before they remembered to high-five Haruka for luck, and doubled back, each of them filing past her, clapping their hands to hers. When it was his turn, Masato took hold of her outstretched hand, squeezing once. 

“I’ve missed you.”

She blushed, but didn’t take back her hand. “I’ve missed you too, Hijirikawa-san. I’m so glad you’re back!”

There was a beat. Then he released her, making his way over to the others, who were checking their mics, making sure everything was turned on and working. Tokiya watched him go. Otoya was visibly bouncing by the stairs to the stage. 

Haruka was looking at him.

“You too?”

It came out a question. He smiled, laying a hand on her back again, this time making her blush. He nodded.

“I’ll be watching,” she said.

She did. She stood at the side stage the whole time, just out of the audience’s sight—which he knew because he looked back there, often, and had always found her there, mouthing the words to one of their songs, talking with various managers and other agency people whom she knew. Someone brought her a chair, but she didn’t use it.

If any of the others felt her presence like he did, he couldn’t know. There was a gravity to it. When he wasn’t looking at her, he felt her. 

It was distracting. He was surprised at how that frustrated him, until the hall went dark between two of their songs, two horizontal spotlights from sidestage illuminating a trail of smoke that served as their transition signal, and he remembered, suddenly, that he hadn’t had a chance to finish preparing for their set. But being angry at her for that was like trying to be angry at her for running into him in the hallway. When the next song started, he looked back at her again, and found her standing with her eyes closed, her arms wrapped around herself, her head bobbing just fractionally with every familiar beat, all of them renderings of songs she’d created. Just like that, he felt the frustration dissolve.

× × × × ×

Later, in his dressing room, he put his hand to the inside of the door. It was black metal, slightly reflective, and his breath left clouds of condensation in the space between his thumb and forefinger. The doors were heavy, but the walls were not soundproofed. He heard mumblings like underwater voices around the sound of her name.

His heart rate slowed. Her face flashed again and again in his mind—her hands clasped in front of her, her skirt bouncing with her as she applauded. They’d all rushed her. He could still feel the touch of her hand on his arm through the fabric of his stage jacket. 

He stepped away from the door. 

It was a legacy from his days as HAYATO that he had his own dressing room. It was one thing to live with the others, to sleep in the same rooms when they travelled—but after an early concert of theirs when he’d gone onstage without preparing himself and been practically a robot during the show, an unspoken agreement had emerged between the others that if someone else was assigned to his changing room, they would prepare elsewhere. By now, most of the venues they played at knew the drill. 

Her face flashed through his mind again, her smile—how she’d looked in the residual glow from the stage lights, the bright colors casting her skin every color imaginable. Unbidden, the thought came to him of what she would look like under the lights _without_ her clothing—

He pulled off his stage jacket, slowly, taking care with the headpiece that was still looped behind his ear. It was a cold night, but his undershirt was soaked with sweat. He peeled that off as well, retrieving a hand towel as well as a clean change of clothes from his day bag.

A half-finished water bottle from earlier was still where he’d left it on the counter. Carefully, he poured it out over the towel. 

There was a knock at the door, followed by Ren’s voice. He startled, spilling some, and swore under his breath.

“Icchi, we’ll meet you at the hotel. Do you know where it is?”

“Yes.” It was just a few blocks—walking distance, albeit an unpleasant one in this weather. “I won’t be long.”

Ren thumped the door one more time and left. Tokiya let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

He finished toweling off, leaving the rag in the trash. After a moment, he tossed his undershirt in as well, changing out of his costume pants and into his jeans and pulling a black t-shirt over his head. He looked around the room. Shining’s people dealt with their costumes, but it had been warmer when he’d packed that day. There was a scarf in his bag, but apart from that, only his overcoat—which was substantial, but it would be a long few blocks if he walked. He had his phone halfway out to call a taxi when he shouldered his bag and left, checking behind him on the way.

As the door fell closed behind him, he looked up to find Haruka a few steps ahead of him, halfway toward the exit. She turned at the sound of the door, a hand halfway to her lips. 

He would swear, to this day, if asked, that he had no idea what had come over him that night. The surprise he felt at seeing her barely registered. Before he knew what he was doing, he was walking toward her. She had frozen in her tracks, cutting herself off at his approach.

“Ichinose-san—?” 

They’d gone from the world’s biggest stage right to the world itself. First it was just Japan, for six incomprehensible weeks that seemed as much like they hadn’t happened as like they had taken him away from the real world. In a way, they had. Hundreds of thousands of people had gone to see them—and he’d given each of them his all, all he could spare, anyway. But it wasn’t real. If the others noticed, none of them said anything. They’d probably felt it too. In the middle of it all, all they’d had was each other.

In the beginning, all they’d had had been each other, and her.

He held her to him, one arm wrapped around her back. The bulk of her purse pressed into his side, and the hand that she’d raised to her mouth had turned and planted itself on his chest, her fingers curled slightly, like he was something breakable. She didn’t even reach his chin. He bent down, pressed his lips to the crown of her head. It wasn’t quite a kiss, but it also wasn’t anything else.

“I’m home,” he said to her hair.

“Huh—Ichinose-san—”

He kissed her. She was stiff as a board in his hands. After a moment, he pulled away, and it was barely a moment before something like panic came over him. She didn’t feel the same, and now he’d—

“Ichinose-san,” she said again, looking up at him, a different version of the panic he felt reflected in her face. “We can’t do this here, someone will see—”

There was a beat. Then, as he realized what she was saying, he heard a sound, which it took him another moment to realize was his own laughter. He looked at the ceiling, letting her meaning wash over him for a moment until he looked back at her and found she’d raised her hand halfway to her lips again and was looking at him with a look somewhere between confusion and concern.

Something warm bloomed in his chest. It must have been reflected on his face, because after a moment or two, she relaxed, and he slid a hand into her hair, her hand coming to grip the fabric of his coat over his wrist.

“You’re right,” he said, meeting her eyes again, memorizing them anew. “Meet me tomorrow. There’s a café in Aoyama that’s frequented by celebrities, so we won’t stand out. I’ll text you the address.”

“Okay,” she said. 

She was still holding his wrist. Before he kissed her again, he let his hand fall from her hair, and her hand fell with it. He held it for a moment, running his thumb over her fingers. She was so small. 

“You’ll come.” 

The question came out a statement in his disbelief. But she nodded, smiling broadly, pulling her hand to her chest, shrugging into her coat.

“Goodnight, Ichinose-san.”

× × × × ×

(thirty-seven days before)

× × × × ×

At the appointed hour the next day, he waited outside, pretending to read something on his phone. His disguise consisted of a beanie, which he'd pulled low over his head, thick-rimmed glasses, and a scarf that was halfway covering his mouth, now damp with condensation from his breath. Still, despite all of that, a group of middle school girls had been muttering beside him for several minutes, going back and forth with themselves over whether he was really Ichinose Tokiya, or just someone who looked like him. When he glanced up after several more minutes to see Haruka looking his way, he could have melted with relief.

“Ichinos—”

He covered her mouth with his hand, tucking her into him with his arm while he turned them away from the group of girls, beginning to walk. After a moment, he lowered his hand, but kept his arm where it was.

“Sorry. Back there.” He shrugged in their direction, glancing back—the three girls were openly staring at them now. Haruka followed his gaze.

“Huh—? _Oh,_ ” she said, looking up at him. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t even think—”

“It’s okay.” He smiled down at her. “I knew it was a possibility, so I thought of another place we could go.”

“You think of everything, Ichinose-san.” She crossed an arm over her chest so she was holding the strap of her purse. “I’m…sorry I was late, by the way. I…”

She trailed off. He looked at her. “What is it?”

“I had an argument with myself over whether I should come, and lost track of time.”

He smiled, tightening his hold so that his arm slid under hers. She jumped a bit at the contact before resting that hand over his wrist. That had, of course, been another possibility he had considered.

“I’m glad you decided to accept me,” he said, his voice low in her ear. From there, he saw a blush spread over her face. In a normal voice, he added: “Just to be very clear about this, this is a date.”

Her blush deepened, which he felt more than saw when her hand tightened around his wrist. 

“I know,” she said. After a moment, she laughed. Some of the tension in her body seemed to leave her. “I’m sorry. I’m still getting used to this.”

“To what?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“I won’t judge you.”

She glanced at him, and they slowed their pace until they came to a crosswalk. “Ichinose-san, I’ve never told you this, but I had a crush on you for a long time as HAYATO.” The light turned, and they were walking again. “In some ways, this is like a dream come true for me.”

“Well, if it’s your dream—” He grinned, then, pulling out HAYATO—he dropped his hand from her side, lacing their fingers together as he pulled her the rest of the way across the street, only to whirl around at the other side, stopping her with his hands on her wrists.

“Shall I tell Tokiya to take a hike, then?”

She stopped in front of him, laughing, and looked up at him.

“I prefer Ichinose-san, now that I know him.”

“Do you know me?” He asked in his normal voice. “Do you know that if you don’t stop being so completely adorable, I’m going to kiss you again?”

She raised her free hand to her mouth, blushing hard. 

“Ichinose-san, there are people here.”

He made a show of looking around. “So there are,” he said. He looked at her. “Does that mean that if there weren’t, you would let me kiss you?”

She chewed a bit on one of her knuckles. “You’re enjoying this way too much,” she said into her hand.

She had _no_ idea. They’d reached the other place he knew about, then, and he steered them inside. “What, getting to know you?” She looked up at him again as he held open the door for her. “I would like to know you much more than this.”

She looked up at him as she ducked under his arm. “I would like that too,” she said.

× × × × ×

(thirty-one days before)

× × × × ×

A few days later, he met her at a train station. As with before, he was wearing a disguise; unlike before, it was several degrees warmer, and the downright beautiful day meant he had to get creative. The station where he’d asked her to meet was in the middle of the business district—well-known, so she could find it easily, and crowded, but not with the kinds of people likely to care about his presence. Still, he kept his head down, only glancing up every few moments to see if Haruka had arrived.

He’d arrived early himself. Despite many years of working with her, it had occurred to him that he didn’t know if she was the kind of person who arrived early or late to things like this. But his suspicions were confirmed when he felt the presence of someone watching him, and looked up to see Haruka making her way toward him, only a minute or two late.

“Ichinose-san,” she said, very quiet despite the noise. “How come you wanted to meet here?”

“Because I’ve been thinking about something.” He pushed off the pillar he was standing against, reaching for her hand. Somewhat to his surprise, it was she who laced their fingers together as they began to walk. With his free hand, he pulled two tickets out of the pocket of his coat, handing one of them to her. “I realized after our last date that I don’t know very much about your life before we met. This seemed like a good place to start.”

He watched her read what was printed on the ticket. 

“Ichinose-san!”

He squeezed her hand. “I hope this is okay.”

She was still looking at it, disbelieving. “I—of course,” she said, and looked up at him. “But isn’t it usually the other way around? I don’t know your life before we met, either. Besides HAYATO, I mean.”

He darkened a little at that, turning forward, falling silent for a moment while he watched a train pull out of the station. It made sense that she would ask, but his relationships, or lack thereof, with either of his parents still dampened his mood. So Haruka wouldn’t notice, he called a little on his HAYATO side, looking back at her. “There will be time for that later. Let’s do this today.”

She nodded, accepting. They had a bit of time left before the train arrived—in that time, she excused herself for a few minutes, and he watched as she found the quietest spot she could on the platform to call her grandmother, letting her know they would be coming. When she came back, she was beaming.

“Oba-chan is looking forward to seeing us,” she said, reaching for his hand again. “Thank you, Ichinose-san. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her.”

“She doesn’t mind the late notice?” He was running circles with his thumb over her hand, and she looked up at him. A bit lower, he added: “Or that she’ll have to share you?”

She smiled again, shaking her head. “No, not at all! She’s looking forward to meeting you properly, since she didn’t have a chance to before.” After a moment, she laughed a little. “Though, I have to tell you. I did tell her that you‘re HAYATO. She told me to thank you for being the inspiration that made me a composer.”

The train arrived, then, and he was thankful for it, the commotion of exiting passengers and finding their car allowing him time to process what she was saying. As they walked, he watched her. There was nothing in her expression that suggested she had any idea of what she had just told him. 

At the coach, he reached for her ticket and she handed it to him, startling a bit when she realized it was first class. It was mid-week, so the train was relatively empty—he’d bought out the entire car as a precaution, though there was probably no need to mention that. She took her seat, surprising him a second time when she lifted the armrest as he sat down, making it so there was nothing between them. 

It would forever be one of the things he was most grateful to her about that she didn’t feel the need to fill their silence with talk. Instead, she sat primly in her seat, her shoulder just brushing his, a small smile on her face as she watched people milling around in the station, then at the city as they left, getting sparser and sparser as they went.

“You know, it’s kind of funny,” she said after some time. “You inviting me to the place where I grew up, rather than me inviting you.”

She’d said something similar earlier. He’d moved an arm around her shoulder, and ran a finger through the ends of her hair. “I can be very persistent about the things that I want.”

The double meaning was not lost on her. She blushed, turning forward again. “I just worry, is all. With Shining’s rule. He’s so strict about it.”

“We’ll deal with that when it comes. _If_ it comes. If this stays secret enough, it may not.”

She looked at him. “Ichinose-san, you have much more to lose than I do.” 

It was true—outside the academy, Haruka, since she wasn’t an idol, wasn’t bound anymore by the “no love” rule. It was a miracle to him that she hadn’t been snatched up already. He pressed a kiss into her hair. She went rigid, until he squeezed her shoulder and she relaxed.

“Don’t think about that right now,” he said.

They passed most of the rest of the ride in silence. The village where Haruka’s grandmother lived wasn’t _that_ far from the city, a small stop between two larger towns at which he wasn’t surprised to find they were the only ones exiting. Just a few seconds later, the train pulled away again. Rather than the road, Haruka had started down the embankment toward the field bordering it—after a moment, she turned around.

“This is the neighbor’s field,” she said by way of explanation. “This is the fastest way. She lives on the other side. Do you mind?”

He shook his head, smiling, taking her hand again. He’d known she’d grown up in the country, of course—he had even seen it—but it was quite another thing to watch her merge so instantly into this environment. 

She walked a little ahead of him sometimes, leading him. At that time of year, the only things growing in the field were grasses tall enough to reach Haruka’s knees. But despite the season, the sun was warm, and it wasn’t long before they’d both shed their coats.

“I used to wander through here all the time when I was young,” she said. “When I was well enough. Getting lost in the fields.” She laughed a little. “The neighbors had to bring me back.”

“When you were well enough?”

She glanced back at him, slowing so she was beside him. “I used to be very frail. Much more than I am now. I came to live here because of that.”

“I never knew that.”

“That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” She smiled up at him, some sadness in the expression. “I don’t talk about it much. There isn’t usually a need to.”

“Does it still affect you?”

“Sometimes. If I get overstimulated, or forget to eat.”

That word sent a jolt through him. There could be a thousand different meanings. But before he could ask further, they crested a hill, and the house came into view. Haruka started running, looking back at him.

“Come on!”

× × × × ×

Haruka listened around the house for a moment. There were no noticeable sounds, unless there was something he couldn’t pick up. “She’s probably in the greenhouse,” she mused before turning to him. “Would you like to stay here, or…”

“I’ll come with you.”

She smiled, then, nodding, and turned out onto a path that led around the house. The structure was situated in a corner of what was, when it wasn’t winter, a very large garden. Inside a woman with unmistakable resemblance to Haruka was halfway facing them—when she noticed them, she set down her canister of water and walked outside.

“Haru-chan,” she said.

Haruka ran to her. The older woman wrapped her arms around her, holding the back of Haruka’s head. 

“Oba-chan,” she said into her neck. “I’m sorry it’s been so long.”

Her grandmother released her, but held her arms. She was shaking her head, smiling. “Never mind that, dear. You’re here.” She looked at him over Haruka’s shoulder. “Thank you for bringing her.”

She released her. Halfway to the greenhouse, Haruka asked, “Is there anything I can help with?”

A look somewhere between knowing and resignation came to the older woman’s face. “I was gathering greens for lunch. They’re inside. Would you mind gathering a few more and bringing them to the kitchen?”

“Okay!” Haruka nodded, disappearing inside. He made to follow her, but the look her grandmother fixed him with stopped him.

“Come with me inside?”

Technically, it was a question, but there was no way to refuse. Not that it would have been wise even if he could. He glanced at Haruka through the walls of the greenhouse and nodded, following.

“I don’t believe I have to ask about what your intentions are toward my granddaughter,” she said once they were out of earshot. They were walking around to the side of the house, and she slid open the door, removing her shoes. He did the same. 

“No,” he answered. “They are as they appear to be.”

The woman regarded him for a moment, assessing, before she continued into the next room, which was the kitchen. He followed. 

“I believe you are genuine, if not honest.” Her tone was kind, but firm. When she met his eyes, he had to keep from flinching. “My question is, what are you going to do about it?”

“To…do about it?”

She tilted her head—a gesture that echoed Haruka’s—but instead of curiosity, it was a hint of disapproval that colored the look she gave him. He found, instantly, that the most important thing in that moment was to earn it back. 

“She used to write to me about you boys. She still does, from time to time. I’m well aware of your principal’s rules. I’ll ask again—what are you going to do about it?”

“I…love her.” He looked at her. The confession gave him strength. “I will do what’s best for her. Whatever that may be.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” She smiled a bit to herself, shaking her head. “HAYATO. Who would have thought.”

“Tokiya,” he said, smiling a bit. “I’m not HAYATO anymore.”

“You’re more him than you think.” She looked at him, then, not maliciously, but knowingly. “Be careful with her, Tokiya. She has a strong spirit, but a fragile heart.”

× × × × ×

(twenty-six days before)

× × × × ×

_Are you busy?_

The text had seemed to send itself before he could stop it. As he waited for the elevator, two of the producers he’d been working with that evening came up behind him, discussing something animatedly. The television special he’d signed on for was one of many short-term assignments he’d lined up between the first and second halves of the tour, as had most of the others: for this particular gig, he’d be working as a celebrity mentor to contestants on a singing show. It was tiresome, but it was necessary, though it also meant that he was getting out very late that day.

His phone buzzed.

_I’m leaving in a few minutes. I had a meeting run long today. Why?_

When the elevator arrived, the three of them stepped in, and he made a point of not looking at the others.

_Where are you?_

Haruka’s response was quick:

_Ascalon Center. Is something wrong?_

He held back a smile.

_No, nothing’s wrong. That’s close to me. I’ll meet you there._

He put his phone away, silencing himself before he could allow her to convince him not to come. He felt his phone buzz a few more times in his pocket before it went silent. The elevator arrived at the ground floor, and he nodded at the two producers to exit first.

The place where she was working that day was in the same small district as his. On the way, he checked his phone again—a brief attempt to convince him to reverse course, followed by what was, admittedly, a very reasonable suggestion. When he found her, she was standing by an empty bus station at a corner of the property. At that hour, and in that district, there were very few people around.

She looked like she had something she wanted to say. Whatever it was, he didn’t press it—just fell into step beside her as they began walking.

“Ichinose-san,” she eventually said. He had his response halfway formed—but then she turned to him, and a weight seemed to settle over her. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good company today.”

His reply died on his tongue. “What is it?”

“I don’t want to trouble you.”

He placed a hand on her back. “It’s no trouble.”

She didn’t jump. Instead, she looked up at him, letting out a breath. “A few months ago, I did some ads for a certain company.” She didn’t mention which one, so he didn’t ask. “The ads went over well, so they hired me again to create new ones for next season. Only, nothing seems to be working. I’ve re-done them several times, but the marketing director keeps telling me they don’t fit the mood.”

He felt a wave of relief. Over what, he wasn’t sure.

“You’ll get it,” he said.

“I’ll do my best.” She shook her head, then, and smiled up at him again, a little sad. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t complain.”

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Huh—no,” she said.

He smiled at her, reaching for her hand. “Then, may I distract you?”

× × × × ×

They walked to the edge of the business district. At its border, the world seemed to turn—it was a weeknight, but it was alive, full of wandering families, other couples. The warmth from the previous day had held. In the relative darkness, no one seemed to care who they were.

He took her to a little ramen shop on a pedestrian via, one he made a point to visit whenever he was in the area. It was one of precious few establishments he never had to worry about whether he could trust. When they were finished, Haruka went to pay for hers, but he stilled her with a hand on her wrist, a firm look silencing her protest.

“Let me take care of you,” he said, just to her.

He saw her bite the inside of her cheek. “Thank you,” she said after a moment.

He took her hand again, leading her away. The traffic on the via was beginning to thin. After some time, she tucked her arm through his.

The via let out at a park, a long space full of cherry trees that were bare at this time of year, connecting two districts of the city. She huddled even closer to him. Midway through, the path opened up to a lake at one side. She looked out over it, asking, after a long silence:

“What did you think of my hometown?” 

He took a moment, assessing the question. The memory of her grandmother’s warning ran through his mind—hers was a perceptiveness that rivalled Cecil’s, all the more potent for her lifetime of experience. When he had his answer, he pulled her to a stop, coming to stand behind her as they looked out over the lake. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

“I like doing normal things with you,” he answered. “I’ve been in this world for a long time. But visiting there reminded me of what it feels like to be out of the idol spotlight.”

“You used to work so much.”

“I don’t work that much anymore,” he said, closer to her ear. “Other things are more important.”

He felt her shiver. He went to tighten his hold on her, only for her to turn around, a hand on one of the arms that had been around her waist. She’d stepped back from him a bit, searching him, a blush on her face that was barely visible under the light from the street lamps.

He raised a hand to her cheek, slipping into her hair. He felt it—the pull of Shining’s rules, the countervailing force of the question that was hanging, unanswered, in the air between them.

“There’s no one here,” he said, stroking her jaw with his thumb. “Can I kiss you now?”

Her blush deepened. After a moment, she nodded. 

And then he was kissing her, his lips moving over hers, the feeling every bit as delicious as he’d remembered. The arm that was now around her back tightened, pulling her closer—the hand that had come to rest on his chest the first time returned, only to make its way up, slowly, into his hair, holding him to her as he held her. 

“Ichinose-san,” She said when they broke apart, both breathless. She was still holding his face, his forehead pressed to hers. “You’re leaving again soon.”

“I don’t want to think about that right now. I want to spend time with you like this for as long as I can.” Against her lips, he asked: “Will you have me?”

She nodded. He kissed her again.

× × × × ×

(fourteen days before)

× × × × ×

Time was speeding up. An entire week was wasted, it seemed, when he couldn’t see her—he’d finish early for the day, only for her to be tied up in a late meeting; she’d have the day off, but he’d have some engagement he couldn’t get out of. When she told him midway through a week of not seeing her that she wouldn’t be able to see him for a few days, he found himself staying later and later at work, evading as long as he could the feeling that something was coming for him.

A part of him felt dishonest. He had, after all, told Haruka that he wasn’t working so much anymore—and there was a degree of truth to that, as he’d structured his schedule so that his busiest days fell amidst days when he had almost nothing going on, so he could at least feel like he wasn’t lying to her. A few days prior, they’d both carved out time to see a play together. It had been a recommendation from Masato, put on by a director he had worked with a couple of years ago. But she’d been distracted by something that she didn’t seem to want to talk about, and by the time the evening was over, he’d kissed her goodnight without ever learning what it was.

A few days later, on one of his slow days, he was at his apartment, running lines for a television special he’d been roped into—a guest role on _Fire and Wind_ , in which he was playing the troubled son of the city’s mayor, recently a victim to an insider trading scheme that threatened to topple his father’s position. They would be spending the better part of the next two days filming. 

Ren had come over to rehearse. He had his back to him on the couch, Tokiya at the bar, nursing a lemon water tinted slightly yellow with a supplement he’d added.

“I’m still not getting it, though. What exactly is the downside you see in all this?”

Tokiya looked up from his phone, blinking. “I’m sorry?”

“Your line, Icchi.” He had his feet propped up on the coffee table, turning to look at Tokiya over one shoulder. 

“Sorry,” he said again. “Can you start again, a couple of lines back?”

“Is that all it is? You don’t know where to go from here?”

“You’re not exactly convincing me,” he read.

“I thought you might be more relieved to be out from under this, is all.”

He was looking out the window as Ren read his line. There was a pause long enough that he heard a grunt before he read, “I guess I am. I really am, actually.”

“Is your head somewhere else?”

“Hm?” Tokiya frowned, looking through the script. “That’s not—”

“I’m talking about _you_ ,” Ren answered, his tone a bit teasing. He nodded at Tokiya’s phone, which was still open in his hand. “What has you so captivated?”

He shut off the screen and set it on the counter behind him. “I’m here, now. You have my full attention.”

Ren raised a brow. “That wasn’t what I asked.”

“It’s nothing that can’t wait until later.”

Ren turned back around. But he let it drop.

× × × × ×

(eight days before)

× × × × ×

The day of the shoot for the music competition, Haruka finished early for the day. He’d asked her to meet him at the filming studio, which was close to Shining Agency headquarters; she’d surprised him when she’d shown up an hour before he’d asked her to be there, even more so when, rather than watch him, he found her engaged in deep conversation with one of the producers of the show. At a break between takes, he watched them. Neither of them noticed.

As they finished, the producer stood, extending a hand while Haruka assembled her papers. She shook his hand, smiling—the producer was making to leave when Tokiya saw him look his way, fixing him there with a look.

“Nanami, have you met Ichinose Tokiya?”

“We know each other from school, actually,” she said. 

She turned toward him, then. Her expression was warm, but there was a warning underneath it not to cross the line she had drawn. An unfamiliar feeling lanced through him, then, and he fought simultaneous urges to frown, to agree, and to question what she meant. But whatever passed between them was invisible to the producer, who laughed a little, nodding.

“I should have guessed a prodigy like you was one of Saotome’s. I’ll leave you two to it, then. See you tomorrow, Tokiya?”

He nodded at the producer, waving. “Yes.”

Haruka made to leave, her arms crossed over the folio containing her notes. He fell into step beside her. “Ichinose-san—” she turned to him. “—I’m sorry. I should have told you—I’m arranging the performances for the final two rounds. I thought it made sense to have our meeting this evening.”

“And here I thought you came for me,” he joked. When he looked at her, though, she’d flinched a bit. 

“But I put you at risk by coming early,” she said. “It was careless of me.”

He softened his tone. “You aren’t accountable to me, you know. Nor are you responsible for me. You shouldn’t worry so much.”

“I can’t help it.” Her voice was almost a whisper. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

She had a point. There had been something in the producer’s demeanor that suggested he knew what was going on between them, even if he hadn’t said anything.

“I have a suggestion, to get your mind off things.”

Once they were outside the building, he waited until they’d rounded a corner, merging into evening pedestrian traffic before looping his arm through one of hers. She dropped the arm, linking their hands together instead.

“What’s your suggestion?” 

“Do you trust me?”

She looked up at him, puzzling a bit despite the teasing expression he wore. “Of course I do.”

“Then let me surprise you.”

They had stopped walking at a bus stop. He waved down a taxi, holding the door open for Haruka, draping an arm over her shoulders as he told the driver which district to take them to.

“That’s so far!” She said.

He ran his fingers along her cheek. “Trust me.”

It was obvious the whole time that she wanted to ask, but she stayed silent, putting her file of notes away in her messenger bag, settling into his side as they rode and watched the city pass outside the window. When they’d reached the district, Tokiya paid the driver before Haruka could stop him. 

“Ichinose-san…you’re never going to let me pay for anything, are you.” Her question came out a statement.

“Not while I’m here. I only have a short time to take care of you, remember.”

She was holding her arms around herself. It was a bit chilly in this part of town. He took off his scarf, wrapping it around her neck—she put a hand to it, watching him, falling into step again as he led her through the maze of wooden buildings, through streets that were empty, barely lit. Eventually, they reached a gondola. It was machine-operated, and he deposited the appropriate fare, folding the door open for her. She looked at him again with that puzzled expression, but stepped in.

At first, the view wasn’t much. But soon enough, it opened above the treeline as the craft took them higher, and she moved to the railing, watching out the window as the cityscape bloomed in front of them. That time, when she turned around, her expression was different. He came and stood beside her, a hand on her back.

“Is this what you wanted to show me?”

He smiled. “No. We’re almost there.”

The craft stopped on a platform near the top of the hill. A footpath stretched out beyond it—that high up, the breeze was a full wind, and he hugged Haruka to him as they made their way to a dark structure that had only become visible as they neared the top. He watched her surprise when he opened the heavy metal door, holding it open for her. The only lights in the building were the emergency lights that were kept on at all hours, and she looked back at him as she walked inside.

“I called in a favor,” he explained. “Come with me.”

Inside, it was warmer, and she let him take her hand again as he led her through, watching as she looked around, probably wondering what the building was. A large metal column extended straight up through the middle of the ceiling, and it was impossible to see around it. They passed it by, walking through a short hallway before arriving at an open antechamber lined with floor-to-ceiling windows.

At that point, she dropped his hand, making her way straight to them. She put her hand on the glass; again, he came up beside her. After several long moments, she turned to him, a faint glow from the city light reflected over her face. 

“What is this place?” 

“It’s very beautiful, but it still isn’t what I wanted to show you.”

She paused, hesitating. He put his hand out again to take hers. She looked back at the view for a moment, lowered her hand, and followed.

Out the hall they’d come, he turned a corner that led to a long hallway with only one door, which was open. Inside was an auditorium, nearly dark except for track lights on the floor. He led her down until she was standing in the middle of the room.

“Stay there for a moment. I’ll be right back. And close your eyes.”

She nodded, and did so. He made his way up the aisle to an alcove in the back, where several machines were linked; he pulled out the directions he’d written earlier from his pocket, setting the dials and switches. Light flooded into the room. He made his way back down. When he reached her, he held Haruka’s arms, tipping her face up a bit.

“Open your eyes,” he said.

She did, and he watched her, mesmerized, as she took in the sight above them, the deep, domed ceiling now projected with thousands of stars. Her fingers curled against his chest.

“Ichinose-san.”

The nebulas swam over them, the glow casting a deep, indigo haze over her skin. He remembered the night of the concert, the thought of her skin with nothing on it but the lights.

“Why stars?” She asked.

He understood her meaning. “I don’t know very much about astronomy, but seeing the stars has always brought me peace. This is about as close as we can get in the city.” He ran a thumb over her lip. She lowered her eyes, looking at him. “I wanted to take you to a place you’d never been. That you might associate with me. Did I guess correctly?”

“Yes,” she breathed out.

“Good.”

He kissed her. When they stopped, it wasn’t a cliché, for once, to say she had stars in her eyes.

× × × × ×

(two days before)

× × × × ×

It was late in the evening when the private car he’d rented pulled up in front of Haruka’s building. He was early, but only by a few minutes. He caught the door as someone was leaving, holding it open for them; the woman thanked him, and he caught her double take out of the corner of his eye as he let it fall closed behind him.

To calm his nerves, he took the stairs. The stairwell was drafty, and he was thankful for it—the combination with the exertion cleared his mind, and by the time he arrived at the ninth floor, he was exactly on time, down to the minute. He rang the bell at Haruka’s door, heard her soft footsteps as she made her way there, clearly a little surprised when she opened the door and saw him. 

She was fixing the backing of her necklace, propping the door open with her hip.

“Ichinose-san.”

When he walked in, she stepped back, letting the door fall closed. For a moment, he took her in: her arms and shoulders wrapped in lace that extended over her collarbone; the opaque, almost iridescent sheath of the dress that was close to her body without being indecent, all of it a blue so deep it was almost purple. She finished with her necklace and looked at him, tilting her head. Her hair, halfway up, followed the motion.

“What is it?”

He took her hand, pressing a long kiss to it. “You look beautiful,” he said, his voice low. “Are you almost ready?”

She blushed, nodding. “Almost. I just need my coat.”

“Good.” He released her hand, but not before he’d stepped close to her. “If we don’t leave now, I might not let you go.”

Her blush deepened. She found her coat in the closet, taking his offered hand as she locked the door behind them. At the car, he held open the door, and he followed her in, taking her hand again.

“Where are we going?”

“There’s a place that opened up near where I live. Supposedly, it’s been difficult to get reservations.”

“Even for you?”

He looked at her, smiling a bit. “Maybe not so much.”

They fell silent the rest of the way. It was just as well—there was a feeling over him that felt a bit like the restlessness he’d felt since the night of the concert. But that wasn’t it. When the car pulled up, Haruka didn’t even try to pay, just shook her head a little at him, smiling. He held the door as she exited, and again when they entered the restaurant. 

He gave his name, and the maître d’ nodded, escorting the two of them through dark walkways, highly cognizant of the occasional looks of recognition thrown his way. He touched a hand to Haruka’s back, and she glanced at him over her shoulder before turning around again as they arrived at one of several elevated platforms. A black curtain, not quite opaque, separated the space from the rest of the room, which was held back for them as they entered. The maître d’ nodded at them, letting it fall closed. 

There were no chairs. Instead, the table was slightly elevated over benches that wrapped around it, dropping down into the platform. Jasmine flowers hung at the corners of the structure, the late hour meaning they were blooming; he sat down first, and Haruka followed, sitting at a corner to him. She rubbed her arms a bit. 

“I’m a little cold,” she said when he looked at her.

“Sit by me.”

She slid over. He, on the other hand, was warm, waves of heat running through him every few seconds. Again, he touched a hand to her back—she hesitated a moment, but leaned into him, only to startle as they heard a knock against the frame, followed by a parting of the curtain. Their server bowed.

“Would you like anything to drink?”

“Oh.” Haruka held a finger to her lips, looking at him for a moment and then at the server. “I'm not old enough.”

“Do you mind if I do?” He asked her. She shook her head. He looked up at the server. “Juyondai, warm.”

Their server nodded and left. 

“Oh,” Haruka said again. “Wow.”

“I have to confess something. I’m very nervous.”

She cocked her head. “Why?”

He took her hand. For a moment, he looked at it as he ran his thumb over the back, then looked at her again. “I want to take this to the next level.”

She blushed, deeply, and he held her hand tighter when she instinctively pulled back. “Ichinose-san.”

“I have something very important to ask you.” He met her eyes, found bewilderment, nervousness, fear. All the things he was feeling. Without thinking, he lifted a hand to her face, running his fingers behind her ear. “Would you be willing to wait for me until I get back? I can’t stop thinking about this. I want us to stay like the way we are right now.”

“Ichinose-san,” she said again. She lowered her eyes. “I don’t know what to say.”

He lowered his hand. “I know it’s a lot. I’d like you to think about it, and to let me know before I leave.”

The panic returned to her face, and he felt something grip his chest and squeeze. “You leave three days from now.”

“I know. It isn’t fair for me to ask this of you. But I don’t know what else to do.”

He’d leaned in a bit closer to her—close enough that his shoulder was behind her back, his voice low in her ear. At a second knock at the frame, they both straightened, and the server brought in his drink, along with a pot of fragrant tea that he hadn’t ordered. He set the latter in front of Haruka, and she looked between them, bewildered.

“From another patron,” the server explained. “He wished to remain anonymous. Have you decided?”

He looked at him, unable to keep all of the suspicion off his face. “Not yet. We’ll need a few more minutes.”

The server nodded, bowed, and left again.

“Don’t answer now,” he said, reaching for his drink. “Just be here with me tonight. I want every moment that I can get with you.”

× × × × ×

By the time they were done, the temperature had dropped several degrees. They stopped at a crosswalk.

“Nanami-san, I have one more thing to ask of you tonight.”

She looked up at him, searching, a bit of nervousness on her face. 

“I don’t want this to end yet,” he said, slowly. “Will you come home with me?”

She blushed scarlet. At that moment, the crosswalk turned, and she was silent as they made their way across. 

When she reached the other side, she said, “Yes.”

× × × × ×

They were silent as they made their way the few blocks to his building. They remained silent as he let her in, and all the way up; in the elevator, she was facing him, but wasn’t looking at him. He felt her nervousness like a cloud.

It wasn’t until they were inside his apartment that he let himself touch her. He let the door fall closed, pulling her to him by her shoulders, a hand sweeping up her cheek to brush her hair back. It was featherlight. Her posture, full of tension, reminded him of the first time he’d kissed her—until she seemed to remember that there was no one watching and took a step toward him, closing what little distance remained between them, laying a hand on his chest. He wrapped her in his arms, pressed a kiss into her hair.

And then she turned slightly. The hand on his chest rose to the lapels of his coat, holding onto him as she rose up onto her tiptoes. He met her halfway. The arm around her lower back tightened, his hand bracing her shoulders and back. 

He held her to him, kissing her, until he felt her lower back to her feet. They were still wearing their coats. The bulk of the outerwear prevented him from being able to feel her body against his. As though reading his mind, she slid hers off, holding it in her hand for a moment before setting it over a table by the door. After doing the same, he drew her to him again. He could still taste the mango pudding they’d had for dessert. 

“I’ve wanted to do this all evening,” he said against her lips. 

“Ichinose-san.” 

His name came out almost a whisper. Her eyes were closed. She let him tip her head up, and he lifted her chin, tenderly, running his tongue across her lip. She raised a hand, covering his with her own. 

The moment his tongue met hers, a feeling like an electric shock shot through him. He tightened his hold on her, walking them further into the room until her back was against his couch. His hips ground against hers and she gasped into his mouth. He pulled back.

“Haruka,” he breathed out. It was the first time he’d called her by her given name, and her eyes widened a fraction as he did so. “It’s…becoming difficult to control myself. I won’t continue unless you want me to.”

“I…want you to.” 

There was a faint blush on her cheeks as she ran her fingers over his collarbone, under his scarf—she paused before continuing down over his shirt, stopping at his sternum. He’d closed his eyes. When he opened them again, she was looking at him. The look of warring with herself was gone, replaced by something else.

Something _more._

“What happens now?”

He covered her hand with his. “What would you like to have happen now?”

She smiled nervously. “I don’t know how to ask.”

“Try.”

He’d raised her hand to his lips, pressing her fingers to them. His hand was shaking. So quietly he almost missed it, she asked: 

“Are you mine?”

A shiver ran through him. He looked at her, searing this exact moment into his memory.

“Completely.”

He kissed her once, slowly, before he took her hand again and led her into the bedroom. He closed the door. When he turned, she was looking somewhere beyond him, that look of distance and guardedness back on her face. 

She returned to him when he kissed her again. One hand was at her shoulder, the other on the zipper of her dress. He put his whole heart into the look he gave her.

“May I?”

In the low light from the windows, he saw her blush. But she nodded. 

She stood still while he pulled the zipper down, his eyes never leaving hers. He ran his fingers down her back as he went. Goosebumps erupted over her skin. When he returned to the clasp of her bra, she took a sharp breath, but nodded for him to continue. 

He slid the sleeves of her dress down her arms. Her bra came with it. Reflexively, she raised an arm to cover herself. He felt his eyes darken, the rush of desire, saw her glance at him, blushing, then away again when he took in a long breath. 

"No." He'd said the word before he could think to stop himself, his hand reaching out to take hold of the arm that she’d raised to her chest. Gently, he lowered it. "Please don't cover yourself.”

Her blush spread lower. He pulled her closer, his free hand on her back as he held her. He pressed a kiss to her chest. A moment later, he felt her hand on his shoulder—sure she was going to push him away, he pulled back, only to feel her hand in his hair.

Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted. He tightened his grip a fraction, testing, watching her face, before the hand on her back moved to her breast, and he kissed it.

"Is this okay?"

She nodded. Her hand tightened in his hair. He ran his tongue across her nipple. She took in a sharp breath, pressing just barely closer to him—he repeated the motion, his teeth grazing the soft swell. She gasped again, this time louder. 

"Please tell me if you want me to stop."

"Okay," she said through a breath.

He pulled her closer, guiding her to sit in his lap as he climbed onto his bed. Her dress was still halfway on, and he slid a hand into it, running up the smooth outside of her leg. She bucked a little, and he felt a hot surge straight to his groin.

Her other hand found the underside of his jaw. She turned his face to her, kissing him. He slid his fingers under the band of her underwear.

"May I?"

She looked at him, smiling a bit under a deep blush, and pulled at the neckline of his shirt in response.

"Oh," he said, laughing once. He pulled it off, his scarf with it.

He wasn't imagining it. Her eyes darkened a bit as she took him in, and he watched her watch herself in fascination as she ran her fingers down his body.

"I'm so lucky," she said, still watching her fingers. Her touch was sending electricity through him.

"Mm?"

She blushed. "I've never done this before. And with you," she met his eyes, now, smiling. "It's like a dream."

“I’m yours. Completely. Every part of me.”

He felt her hand through his hair. Her chest was warm, spotted with pink. “Me too.”

He kissed her. One hand came behind him, propping himself up on the bed—the other held her, her weight partially on him, one of her hands bearing the rest until he turned her over, lowering her to the bed as he climbed over her, one hand still roaming over her body. One of her legs stayed twined with his.

Her hand was in his hair, tracing the side of his face. Her smile was more beautiful than he’d ever seen it. “HAYATO,” she said, running a finger along one side before tracing the other. “Ichinose-san.”

He took her hand and kissed it, holding it to his lips for a long time.

“I love you.”

His voice was so quiet around her fingers that he wondered if she’d heard him. But then she took their clasped hands, lowering them to her lips as well. “I love you.”

He replaced their hands with his lips, holding their hands above her head. He kissed her deeply, pulling at her lower lip with his teeth—she bowed up into him, her fingers curling into themselves on his chest until she wrapped a hand around his shoulders, holding his head to hers, kissing him deeper. He swept over her lips with his tongue, and she parted them, meeting him tentatively—he ran a thumb under her breast, and she gasped, parting her mouth further. 

He kissed her jaw, her neck beneath her ear. She turned her head. A soft sound escaped her that rocketed through him. Suddenly, he needed to be everywhere inside her. He released her hand, which slid under her skirt. He fingered the waistband of her panties.

“May I?” He asked again. 

“You too,” she said.

He looked at her. He undid his pants, sliding them off along with his underwear. She was removing her dress, but he stopped her. “Let me,” he said.

She nodded. 

She had on long stockings over her legs. He pulled one of them off, not letting go of her foot right away—instead, he paused for a moment, considering, before pressing a kiss against the inside. His breath was a murmur against her shin as he repeated the motion over her calf, her knee, and finally, the inside of her thigh. On the other side, he kissed his way down before sliding his hands up her legs, then back down, this time with her underwear and the rest of her dress. He set them aside.

Instinctively, she raised her knees. He took the opportunity to draw her onto his lap, one arm around her back, the other under the backs of her thighs. He paused, then, sliding his hand between her legs, his finger tracing her. She gasped sharply, bucking a little. He wanted her to do that again. 

“Like this?”

He stroked her again, and she let out a sound that sent sparks through him.

“ _Ah_ —yes.”

He repeated the motion, driving his fingers further. She writhed under his hand, one of hers fisted tightly into the blankets.

_“Ichinose-san.”_

He felt her clench around him. All these new feelings she was experiencing—he felt himself smile, hardening against her leg, adding a third finger which he cupped slightly inside her. She grabbed his wrist—for a moment, he froze, until she moved his hand, moving it just barely back and forth.

 _“Here,”_ she breathed out. 

He hooked his fingers around her clit. She nearly screamed.

“S-sorry,” she stammered out. He put a finger to her lips.

“Don’t be. I want you to feel good, so you shouldn’t hold back.”

She pulled his face down to hers, kissing him hard. He braced himself around her, his other hand never leaving her. He tested various angles, watching for her reaction, feeling her clamp around him when he brushed against the hard spot on her outer wall. He stroked her slowly, kissing her neck, collarbone, lips, until he felt her spasm and break the kiss, her head rolling back.

He withdrew his hand. She held his head to her chest. The fingers in his hair were shaking. 

“Good?” He teased.

 _“Wow.”_ After a few moments, she turned as well, facing him. “Thank you.” But then she frowned, her hand stilling in his hair. “But Ichinose-san, what about you?”

“What—”

Her hand was running down his side. For several long moments, she watched him, before she sat up and onto her knees. “Ichinose-san,” she eventually said. “Show me how to do for you what you just did for me.”

He closed his eyes, and the distance between them. With one hand, he held the back of her head, catching her lips in a long kiss—with the other, he guided her hand down between them, until she ran her fingers over him and he pulled back from her lips with a gasp.

“Hm—?” He curled her fingers around him, jerking into her hand with a gasp before he began to guide her hand down and up again. “Oh,” he heard her say. “Like—”

She ran his tip through her fingers. He gasped into her neck, his fingers tightening in her hair. She did it again.

“Like that,” he said, tightening her hand around him. “You don’t have to be so gentle.”

She moved closer, close enough that he felt her weight settle over his bent legs, felt her warm, slightly damp skin wherever she touched him. He must have made a sound—somehow, he heard her expression though he didn’t see it—and then he didn’t think anymore.

When he began to see stars, he grabbed her wrist, opening bleary eyes into her confusion. 

“Hm—did I—?”

“No,” he cut her off, smiling quickly. “I’m not going to last much longer. I…would like to finish inside you.” 

“Yes.” 

He brushed her bangs off her forehead, lingering. “It hurts the first time.”

She touched his hand. “It’s okay.”

He sat up, leaning over her to get a condom from the drawer in his nightstand. When he was prepared, she touched him again.

“I’ll make it quick.”

“It’s okay,” she said again. “I trust you.”

He faced her on his knees, holding her, kissing her softly. She wrapped her arms around him, nodding into his shoulder. He entered her quickly, feeling a tiny snap—she cried out a little, tightening her arms around his back, scraping slightly with her fingernails. He could feel her clenched brow against his shoulder. He held her tighter.

“Tell me when.”

“Not yet,” she said. The pain in her words pulled at him.

He kissed her hair, staying as still as possible. She was tight as a glove around him. He could have stayed like that for a long time. After a while, her hold on him slackened, and she nuzzled the base of his throat.

“Okay,” she said.

He kissed her as he began to move. He felt the pressure of her small hands at his back.

“Relax,” he said against her lips. “You’re so tense.”

It took her a moment, but she did. “Oh. _Mmh._ ”

“Lay down,” he said.

She did, wincing as he slid out of her. When he was positioned over her again, he held her shoulder, meeting her eyes as he pushed in again. Her eyes slammed shut. He pressed a kiss to her chest.

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

She shook her head. She was squeezing his wrist. He stayed very still. When the pressure on his wrist eased, she looked at him through watery eyes.

“I think it’s stopping,” she said.

He wiped her tears away. Slowly, he hooked one of her legs over his, testing. After a moment, she flexed her leg, driving him deeper. She gasped a bit.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

She smiled slightly. “I’m ready.” 

One hand held her shoulder, the other her hip. She lifted a little into him. He drove even deeper. After another pause, she wrapped a hand over his back.

“Don’t hold back. I’m fine.”

His answer came out nonverbally. He began to go faster. She sighed against his lips. He ran his tongue across hers, parting her lips enough to sweep into her mouth. His hand found her breast, and it wasn’t long until he was seeing stars behind his eyes again—

He stilled against her as waves of pleasure rocked through him. He kissed her hard. She held him to her.

“I love you,” she said into his ear. He pulled back enough to look at her.

“I love you,” he answered, breathless. “Stay with me tonight.”

She smiled. He changed his mind— _this_ was the most radiant he’d ever seen it. 

“Yes.”

× × × × ×

(one day before)

× × × × ×

The next morning, he awoke just after dawn. She was facing away from him. He felt a flash of concern that evaporated as soon as he looked at her. Her short hair fanned out over his pillow, her shoulders rising and falling steadily with sleep.

He moved closer, wrapping an arm around her. She stirred slightly, settling into him so that her bare shoulders were flush against his chest. Her hand curled over his.

“Good morning,” she said softly.

“Good morning.”

Her hair had a bright, citrusy smell, with something sweet underneath, like vanilla or sugar. He took a long breath. After a moment, her hand relaxed over his and her breathing evened out again, and he knew she’d fallen back asleep.

This was a mistake. This wasn’t fair to her, and it was incredibly selfish. Even if Shining never caught them, the very least he was asking her to do was to commit to a man who would be away for months on end, regularly, for the foreseeable future, with whom she would always have to be on guard in public. She would have to live in hypervigilance, as he would—she could never discuss their relationship with anyone. And if Shining _did_ catch them, then what? He could be dismissed from STARISH, or from the agency altogether—or, the consequences could fall all on her. That was the worst outcome. She could be prohibited from working with them again, or worse. Was he endangering _her_ by insisting on this?

She draped her arm over his in her sleep, turning further into him. How long could he ask her to do this before the guilt became overwhelming to both of them? Surely there were others who were better for her than him, who wouldn’t make her wait or live in secret—

A slick flash of jealousy shot through him at the thought. There was, of course, no reason to suspect there was anyone else right now. But it wasn’t difficult to imagine there could be in the future. _No,_ he thought. He had to ask this of her. It ate at him, but even the _idea_ of there being anyone else was worse.

After that, he couldn’t sleep. So he held her, his eyes fixed at some point beyond her shoulder, his breaths a slow, measured rhythm. After an unknown amount of time, she turned over in her sleep so that she was facing him, and the movement woke her up. She blinked up at him.

“Ichinose-san,” she said.

Her smile was serene. She reached up to touch his hair, smoothing it back off his face. There were five thousand things he wanted to say all at once—instead, he caught her hand in his and brought it to his lips, taking a breath around her fingers.

His eyes closed. His heart swelled. No—there was no way he could do anything else. This was the only option.

He lowered her hand to his chest, just above his heart. Then he reached around her shoulders, cradling the back of her head, and pulled her to him. Gently, their lips met.

It didn’t take her long to respond. She shifted against him, her body flush against his. The hand on his chest curled over his shoulder, her thumb a slight pressure in his collarbone. As he felt himself becoming aroused, he lowered a hand to the small of her back, pressing her into him. Letting her know.

She squirmed a little against him. The movement made him buck into her reflexively. But she nodded against his lips.

“Aren’t you sore?”

“A little. But…”

She trailed off. He stilled against her, leaning back enough to look at her. “But what?”

“…it felt good, at the end.”

He kissed her again, smiling against her lips, and ran a hand down her whole body, down over the back of her leg, which he hooked gently over his. She flinched a little. But she moved further against him after a moment, driving him closer. And then he didn’t think anymore.

× × × × ×

(zero days before)

× × × × ×

She’d stayed with him all day, and again the next night. Most of that time, they never left his bed—when it wasn’t his bed, it was his bathtub, or the kitchen counter, or anywhere else they could find. He was insatiable. But so was she.

At one point, he had, half-jokingly, asked if he could take a photograph of her. She’d picked up his shirt from the previous day; she was sitting on the bed, her legs out to one side, the shirt held closed by only one button midway down her chest. She was wearing nothing else.

“But what if someone sees?”

He was standing beside the bed, leaning slightly over her. “How would they see?”

“Ichinose-san.” She laughed a little through his name. “I believe you would do your best to make sure no one did. But it’s still dangerous.”

He hummed his disapproval in her ear, nibbling her earlobe. “Then I’m going to memorize every inch of your body.”

“Haven’t you already?”

He took one of her ankles in each hand, pulling her legs around him.

“Not even close.”

But it couldn’t last. The hours had counted down, the afternoon fading into evening and finally, night. When she lay next to him, curled into him like she had been that morning, he could feel her heartbeat against the hand between her breasts, the puff of her breath against his hand. While she slept easily, his mind raced. He thought many times of waking her.

He had no way of knowing when it had been that he’d finally drifted off to sleep. But when he’d awoken before dawn to find his bed otherwise empty, he immediately shot up.

“Haruka?”

His voice was soft, in case she was still asleep somewhere in the room—but the urgency in his voice was unmistakable, even to his own ears. When she didn’t respond, he fumbled in the dark for the sweatpants he’d shucked that morning, making his way blearily out of the room.

She found her at one of the window seats, her knees pulled up to her chest. She looked at him when he came in. But she didn’t say anything, didn’t even move—not even when he sat down next to her, taking one of her hands in his.

She was wearing his shirt again, and her underwear—she had a throw blanket that had been on the couch draped over most of her legs. Her face was tear-streaked.

“Ichinose-san, I’m sorry, I—”

He cut her off, pulling her to him and taking her in his arms. He felt her tears return fresh against his bare chest. When she pushed against him, he held her tighter, until she gave in and let him.

For several minutes, he held her, his hand stroking through her hair. The next few months played before him in his mind: the next day, he would leave with the others on a nearly 40-show international tour that would last three months. During that time, his communications and activities would be closely monitored, his life, and all of theirs, structured carefully around a PR campaign that was curated to project the image of them the agency wanted the world to see. Meanwhile, Haruka would be home. Her life would go on more or less as it always had. Whether it was a relief or a burden for him to be leaving, he couldn’t know. 

Until he returned, she would have nothing to hide. 

“Ichinose-san,” she said. “I have my answer. To what you asked me earlier.”

Very tentatively, he touched a hand to her mouth. He shook his head.

“It wasn’t fair for me to ask that of you. You don’t have to answer.”

She looked up at him as much as she could, which he felt more than saw. 

He continued. “If the time that we’ve spent together were all it ever came to, I would do it again. But I’m prepared to wait as long as I have to.”

He felt her squeeze a hand into a fist, nodding against him. He kissed her hair.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you,” she answered.

And that was it. Well before sunrise, he called a car that would take them back to her apartment. She didn’t even try to stop him from coming. Once there, he followed her out of the car.

He kissed her, long and slow. When he stepped away, he was smiling sadly.

“If I come upstairs, I won’t leave again.”

She nodded. Her hands were fists at her sides. She walked inside. 

He got back into the car.

× × × × ×

When he got back to his apartment, Shining was waiting for him.

× × × × ×

(ninety-nine days after)

× × × × ×

Haruka looked at her phone. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed. The kitten she’d adopted a few weeks ago was sleeping peacefully in her lap.

She stroked her soft fur, contemplating the dark screen. As ever, there had been no new messages.

First it had been days. That had turned into weeks, then months. And then STARISH had returned. She hadn’t seen them yet, and Tokiya hadn’t made an attempt to contact her. Her few messages to him had gone unanswered.

She turned on the screen, typed out a brief message, and sent it. Then she put her phone away, picked up her notebook, and began to write.

× × × × ×

_I miss you._

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, facing the window. The room was dark, the house silent.

He stared at the message for several minutes, holding his phone between hands braced against his knees. He counted his breaths.

Then he put his phone away.

**Author's Note:**

> _There is resolution to this in ch. 7 of Synesthesia. I won't keep you waiting long. If you're reading this same-day, ch. 7 will be up tomorrow._
> 
> _Until then. x_


End file.
